


It Tolls for Thee

by Alys_Gay_Parade



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Blood is a recurring theme, Ford is just so desperate for closure, Gen, Murder Mystery, Poly Relationship, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, There is a little bit of cheaty nonsense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2020-10-10 13:17:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20528654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alys_Gay_Parade/pseuds/Alys_Gay_Parade
Summary: With law enforcement failing him, Ford launches himself into solving his brother's grisly murder after discovering his remains. It proves to be a difficult task when at the end of your rope, yourself.





	1. Client #618: Stanford Pines - Session #1

**Author's Note:**

> I may have been watching too many true crime videos late at night when I decided to write this.

_The recording cuts in with static, the grainy footage depicting a distressed, six fingered man sitting on a couch and nervously patting an idle rhythm on his lap. His glasses frame his sunken eyes, clearly clouded by whatever trouble led him to seek therapy. The psychiatrist, clearly having finished with the camera, sits opposite to him, writing preliminary notes on her clipboard._

_“Session one. I'm going to be recording for archival purposes. Do you consent?”_

_“Of course.” He clears his throat and sits with his back against the couch, trying desperately to relax._

_“State your name.”_

_“Stanford Filbrick Pines.”_

_“Marital status?”_

_“Unmarried, but hopefully that will change one day, let me tell you.” He lets out a coy laugh._

_“Relationship status?”_

_“Um…” Stanford's face flushes, embarrassed. “… taken.”_

_“She must be a lucky girl. You are quite handsome.”_

_“I'm flattered, ma'am, but I love my boyfriend deeply.”_

_“Oh, my apologies. Just to ease any anxieties, this footage is fully confidential. It will not be released except to those you authorize.” She shuffles her papers with a soft smile. “Now, dear, why did you come to see me today?”_

_Stanford opens his mouth, but chokes on words. He takes a few seconds to breathe and compose himself before continuing. “I've recently gone through a painful loss in my family, of my twin brother. My mother and boyfriend insisted that I seek therapy, since I was the one who found him.”_

_“I understand that speaking about such a traumatic event may be hard, so let's start with something easy. Tell me about your day leading up to the event.”_

Ford's alarm rang, the bells sudden and shrill. He made blind grasps in the clock's direction, throwing it across the room once he finally located the accursed device.

“Ford, love, that's the third alarm clock this month.” Fiddleford sat up in his bed across the dorm with a sleepy grin. “I can't keep affording to buy you new ones, yaknow.”

Ford only groaned in response, getting up to begin preparing for his day. As he brushed his teeth, he looked into the bathroom mirror with a sigh. He looked just like Stanley. Their identical genetics were becoming ever more apparent in his physique. Shoulders growing broader as he gained muscle, jaw more pronounced as he ascended into adulthood. Were it not for his lanky proportions, the cleft chin, and the extra digits, he would look just like his brother.

“I had another nightmare about you last night,” he stated quietly to his reflection. “Are you calling out to me for help? Or just in general? Is this twin ESP, or am I just distressed because it's our birthday?” He shook the thought away with a forced chuckle. “If you could see me right now, you would tell me I'm paranoid as usual.”

Ford smiled as he took off his glasses and looked back into his reflection, now a blur of colors. “We're twenty-one today, Stanley. Fiddleford is taking me out to my first trip to a bar. If, by some miracle, you happen to be there tonight… maybe we can put everything behind us. Be a family again.” He pressed his hand to the cold glass, snapping out of his sad delusion to remember that Stanley isn't actually there. He dons his glasses once more and slowly proceeds out of the bathroom, clicking the light off after one more hesitant look to the mirror.

Ford had a full day of classes to slog through before the love of his life would take him out for what would probably be a night full of dumb, drunken decisions. As he trudged across the college campus, he spotted a man standing under a street lamp, still lit to illuminate the early dawn. His hood was pulled taut around his head, fighting off the lingering chill in the early summer air. Something about the man felt familiar. If the homeless man was still there after his classes, Ford silently pledged to give him five dollars.

Psychology. Biology. Physics. Six hours seemed to fly by in an instant. Ford left Physics with a yawn, meandering back to his dorm. He passed the intersection where he had seen the man that morning, but he, unsurprisingly, was nowhere to be found. Probably chased off by campus security. Ford did his homework as he waited for Fiddleford to return from work, and he was happy to finally be able to take his mind off his brother.

The bar that the two arrived at also happened to be a night club. Most of the college campus were frequenters on weekends. “I know it’s a bit loud for your tastes. But the owners are open to the LGBT.” Ford barely heard his lover over the deafening sounds of music, glasses clinking, and general chatter. “They've got a zero tolerance harassment policy, so we're safe to be open about our relationship here.”

“That's all well and good,” Ford turned to Fidds with a tired smile, “but I've had a really rough day. So let's have some drinks.”

Ford sipped at his glass of whiskey, nervously glancing around the building. He couldn't shake this feeling of somebody watching him. He felt Fiddleford's hand on the small of his back, reassuring him. _There's nobody watching you,_ he told himself. _You're just paranoid._

Ford spotted him. Sitting at the end of the bar, nursing a bottle of beer, was his twin. Disheveled, shaking, and seemingly alone. Stan was blocked from vision by another man sitting next to Ford, and when he had gotten up to walk over to him, Stan was gone. Had Ford hallucinated? Who knows. Not Ford.

After a few drinks and developing a better disposition, Ford was dancing to the loud music with Fiddleford, laughing with flushed cheeks as he was dipped. In his dipped back, upside down position, he saw Stan once more, pulling out a pack of cigarettes as he exited the doors with another man. At least his twin wasn't alone. That made Ford smile, assured that all was well.

Four more hours passed before the couple decided to leave the establishment and walk back to their dorm for the night. Ford noticed his brother's car parked in an alleyway by their building as they approached the doors, and decided to break away from his boyfriend's supportive hold. The world spun as he fought the alcohol in his system.  
He half fell, half leaned against the side of the vehicle, before noticing a sickening pool of red liquid leaking from the driver side door. Ford's heart began to race as he reached for the handle. He could feel the blood in his ears. The world stood still as he slowly opened his brother's car door.

_Ford lets his head fall into his hands as tears run down his cheeks. Curly brown hair, unkempt, is balled into his fists. “I can't. I can't talk about it yet. Too fresh."_

_The psychiatrist nods and places a gentle hand on his shoulder as he begins to sob incoherently. “That's okay. You're out of time for now anyway. We can continue this next week, if you would like.” Ford gives a weak nod before she stands and cuts the tape._


	2. Home Again

As Ford walked through the pawnshop after his therapy session, he and his father caught each other's gazes. Ford took in how guilty Filbrick looked and sighed. “Dad, you don't have to look at me like a hurt puppy every time I see you.”

“I'm sorry, I just-"

“You blame yourself, I get it. At least you didn't have to see the fucking body.” Ford sat on the counter with a sad silence. “There was so much blood, dad.”

Filbrick remained silent before putting a hand on his son's shoulder, heart sunken into his gullet. “How was therapy?”

“Oh, you know.”

“Did it help?”

Ford contemplated the question with bated breath. “Maybe? I told her my whole day before I found him.”

Filbrick gave an unsure hum before patting his child’s back in sympathy. “Your boyfriend is taking a nap in your room. Maybe you should go talk to him about it.”

Ford dragged himself upstairs, giving his mom a wave as he passed the living room. Fiddleford was fast asleep on an air mattress, Stan's bunk having been turned into a sort of memorial. A shrine, maybe? In any case, Ford roused his lover from his nap and was joyed to see the southern man's soft smile.

“Afternoon, sunshine. How was therapy?”  
Ford's smile fell. “Painful. Any word from the police?”

“Sheriff McCorkle says they haven't found any leads.” Fidds' answer left Ford stoic.

“Figures.”

“Stanford,” Fiddleford followed him to his desk, where he was building a small clue map on his own, “you gotta give ‘em time, love.”

“Time?! It has been a full fucking year. There has been nothing in a full year of investigating. I'm starting to think they aren't trying.” Ford slammed a frustrated fist onto his desk before beginning to sob. “I just want justice for my twin… is that so much to ask?!”

“Well, what are you going to do about it, hun?” Fiddleford sat on the ground beside Ford, pulling him into a hug. “Go all PI on the case?”

Ford sat up straight. “Yes.” He plastered a determined look on his face. “I'm not going to rest until Stanley gets justice. So I'll do it myself.”

“Stanford, I don’t think-”

“No, Fidds. I think I have things figured out. If the police won’t listen, then I need to take action.”

Fiddleford sighed before spinning Ford toward him. “This is why your mom and I said you needed therapy. You’re gonna make yourself sick, only focusing on this.”

“That's… not what I meant.” Ford hung his map, studying it closely. “I saw him that night, you know. At the club.”

Fiddleford's eyes widened, surprised. “You never said anything about that.”

“I was in shock. Terrified. It slipped my mind.” Ford pinned his sketch of the man he had seen with Stan to the center of his web, breathing becoming deep with focus. “This was the last man who was with him.”

“Ford. I understand. But you should really leave it to the professionals. Maybe give them your information.” Ford shrugged the hand from his shoulder before grabbing his coat and leaving, Fiddleford left standing in the doorway across from Caryn.

“He's still on about solving it himself, isn't he?” Caryn bounced Sherman in her arms, the toddler staring after his older sibling with a hum of worry.

“He needs space. I'm sure he'll work through it.”

Ford kicked a rock on the beach, watching as the startled seagulls scattered when it landed by them. At the end of the cove, he could see the nearly completed Stan O' War, flags blowing uselessly in the wind. Oh, to be a naïve child, sunburnt red as a lobster, digging for fabled treasure on the beach with his twin. To be picking up starfish from tide pools and stinging himself on anemone.

He could clearly remember Stan losing his first baby tooth by opening a soda with his teeth, or the faint creak of the swings as they watched the sun dip below the waves. Looking up to the stars when they should've been in bed, hypothesizing the credibility of extraterrestrial life beyond their solar system.

Ford watched children run along the sand, walking away as he was noticed. In a neighborhood like this, word spreads quickly. Everybody knew of the death of Stanley Pines, local menace. But they also knew the toll it took on Ford, local freak. He heard some parents whisper about his potential to go off the deep end. About how one push could create a cold blooded killer.

The notion made Ford ill. He would never become the thing that took his twin from him.

The glimmer of broken glass in the sunlight caught his eye, and Ford began to clean it up. With children running barefoot along the sand, he would rather the city not live up to its name. A shard embedded itself into his skin, eliciting a sharp hiss of pain from Ford's throat. The blood trickled down his palm, onto the sands below.

With every drop, the image of his brother flashed in his mind – lifeless eyes on a fear stricken face, open wounds that had stopped bleeding at least an hour prior, blood spattered across the whole car, staining a photo of the two of them at boxing practice. His breathing quickened, heart pounding, as he clenched his hand closed and raced away.

He hid on their boat, sobbing uncontrollably, wishing for the panic to stop. Ford sat in the smallest space he could fit, letting his childhood soothe him to the best of his ability. The clouds that had been on the horizon finally hit land, a downpour slamming the deck of the vessel.

Ford must have been there for hours before he heard heavy feet on wood. His father with an umbrella peeked into his hiding spot with a hand outstretched. “Come home. Caryn and Fidds made dinner.” Ford pulled himself out of his cranny, shivering from the rain. “What happened to your hand?”

“Cut it on a bottle I was cleaning up.” His reply was curt.

Filbrick stared into Stanford's eyes intently, breathing deep and sighing. “You know you can talk to me, right?” He placed a hand on his son's shoulder as they began to walk. “I'm not good at the whole comfort thing… but I get how you feel right now.”

“How could you understand how I feel?!” Ford's tears were mixing with the rain as he shot an incredulous glare at his father. “Have you ever lost a twin?!”

“Yes, and so has your grandmother, so don't raise your fuckin' voice at me like that!” Filbrick bit his tongue, attempting to control his volume as Ford's expression turned to confusion. “Your uncle Frederick was murdered by schoolyard bullies when we were fifteen. He openly confessed his attraction to one of our guy friends and went missing two days later.”

Ford's face fell as he realized the pain his father must be reliving. “Dad, I… I'm sorry, I didn't know.”

“It was my fault. I told him to just go with his gut. And that got him killed. It was my fault then, it's my fault now, for kicking Stan out.” Filbrick removed his sunglasses to reveal a weathered face, tortured by a lifetime of guilt. “I guess this is just one of those things you look back on and wish you could undo. A crack in a mirror or some shit.”

Ford took his father's hand, feeling like a scared young child. “I saw him the night he died. At the bar. He looked scared.” Filbrick hummed as they started walking, prompting him to continue. “He was crying, I think. I'm not sure. But he left with some guy. I thought maybe it was a friend of his. I had faith he was fine.”

“When a grown man's crying, he's never fine.” Filbrick led Stanford inside, shaking out the wet umbrella before placing it in its stand. “Go clean that cut and come to the table. Roasted chicken tonight.”

“Yessir.” Ford ducked into the bathroom and ran the cold tap over the cut, no longer bleeding. He carefully washed away the dried red liquid, his stomach sinking as he again remembered the coagulated mess pooling on the ground. He wrapped his hand tightly before meeting his family at the table, a hard silence saturating the air as they ate, pondering on how to go from here.

Home didn't feel like home anymore.


	3. Holmes

“Stanford, I don't know why you can't just let the police handle this.” Fiddleford sat in the passenger seat as Ford drove in silence. “It would be a lot less stressful if you just handed them your sketch.”

“If you were just going to criticize me, you should've stayed at the shop.” His tone was cold, cutting Fiddleford deeper than a knife. “Somebody has to recognize the guy.”

Fiddleford scowled before slamming the emergency break, bringing the car to a screeching halt on the empty freeway. “Stanford, we've been asking people all day. Let's stop by the police station so you can hand them a copy of your sketch and wait for any tips. Okay?” Ford only gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Why are you so hell bent on doing this yourself?!”

“I should've stood up for him,” his empty tone came after a long silence. “It's my faul-"

“No.” Fidds held the other man tightly, sighing. “I told Filbrick the same thing. The only one at fault is the one who killed Stan. Could better decisions have been made? Of course. But you two aren't the ones who killed him.”

“I'll talk to sheriff McCorkle tomorrow. Right now I just want to go home.” The rest of the drive was made in silence, and they stayed in the car once parked.

“I shouldn't have snapped at you back there. I'm sorry.” Fiddleford looked at Ford with a furrowed brow as he spoke, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I love-"

“Save it. I'm not in the mood for pity and empty apologies.”

Ford walked inside and stopped dead at the sight. Consulting his father at the counter was the man from Ford's sketch, holding a copy of it. Blonde hair, biker jacket, sunglasses and a horseshoe mustache- he turned and went pale as soon as he saw Ford.

Ford's expression shifted from shock to rage at the man. He could feel himself shaking. “I'm going to ask this bluntly. Did you kill my brother?”

“No.” The man approached Ford and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Name's Jimmy Snakes. He was my boy toy, so to speak. And if I find the bastard who did this to him, I'm gonna make sure he feels every ounce of pain Stan felt.”

“Come upstairs so we can talk.” Ford began walking, only to be stopped by his father blocking the stairs.

“Ford, I don't trust this guy.” Filbrick brought his voice to a whisper, clearly unnerved, “I think he might be part of a cult or something. He may be lying.”

“Your dad’s right, even if a little hyperbolic.” Fiddleford approached Stanford from behind, gently rubbing his shoulders. “The guy gives me the creeps, and you really shouldn't talk to him alone. Please, hun, be smart about this.”

“I appreciate the concern, but I can handle myself.” Ford pulled away from his partner's grip and pushed past his dad, followed by Jimmy.

Jimmy, upon entering the bedroom, was immediately drawn to Stan's memorial. Ford watched as he gently stroked the most recent photo with his thumb. He turned to face Ford, and seemed to jump slightly. “I knew he had a twin, but- god, you look just like him.”

“Yeah, we get that a lot.” Ford poured himself a glass of whiskey, silently offering to do the same for the blonde. He received a nod and continued. “How well did you know my brother? How met and when, things like that.”

Jimmy took his glass and sat at Ford's desk with a huff. “We met about two years ago. I was looking for a good time, and he was… offering services.” Ford's grip on his glass tightened. “He broke down in the middle of things, so I asked what was up. Told me he'd had a string of bad clients recently. Wasn't expecting me to be gentle.”

“Is that so?” Ford downed the rest of his glass before pouring another. “So, how did your relationship progress?”

“We had a heart to heart the next morning. He told me that me getting a room for him was the first time in a few months he'd slept in a real bed.” Jimmy leaned back and took a few long sips. “Said he was getting money to feed himself, told me the story of how he was kicked out. I told him where my gang and I frequent, and that he could always come to us if he needed anything.”

“Really, just like that?” Ford set his glass down and looked at Jimmy with disbelief, leaning against the desk. “Why?”

“My whole gang is made up of wayward teens and young adults – kids who ran away from abusive situations, gay and trans kids whose parents threw them out, people who fell on hard times and had nobody to turn to – I don't care what your background is, everybody needs a family.” Jimmy looks to the shrine again. “I wish he knew how much you guys loved him before he died.”

“You were with him that night. The night he died.” Ford poured himself another glass, scowling. “What happened?”

“He called me, told me to meet up with him. He told me some fucked up people were after him, but wouldn't say anything else.” Jimmy’s brow knitted, and he held his glass a bit tighter. “He saw something at the bar that really spooked him and wanted to leave. I insisted that I stay with him, but he wouldn't let me. We had a smoke, he gave me a kiss, and then he drove off. I didn't see him again after that.”

Ford’s grip on his glass was subconsciously white-knuckle, so it came as a complete surprise when it shattered in his hand. He hissed at the sting of alcohol in open wounds, cursing under his breath. Jimmy's voice of concern immediately was drowned out by the pulse in Ford's ears as blood ran off his hand and onto the wooden floor.

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

As a small puddle began to form, Ford was fixated on it. It pooled in a divot on the floorboard, much like the pothole in the alley. It ran from his hand, dripping from the car door. The smell of iron filled the room, and Ford felt the urge to vomit. All he could hear were his own screams of anguish, police sirens, and light rain. His breathing became uneven and he leaned against his desk – no, the trunk of the car – as his head swirled.

“Hey,” he was jolted back to the present at the light touch of a hand, “you okay, Sherlock?” Jimmy held Ford's hand and stared deeply into his eyes – an expression he probably shared with Stan many times. “Let's get this wrapped, huh?”

Ford let Jimmy tend to his wounds, sitting silently as he processed what just happened. “Th-thank you… I kind of… lost myself there for a moment.”

“Don't mention it, doll face.” Jimmy bit his lip and immediately turned to fully face Ford. “Sorry, fuck pet names were mine and Stan's thing, and you look just like-"

“Don't apologize. It's natural, you're still grieving.” Ford cleared his throat to clear his mind of the awkward tension. “It's late. My mom's probably making dinner, and Fiddleford has work in the morning… you should probably go.”

“Do you want me to come back?” Ford's face flushed, causing Jimmy to immediately double back. “You know- like- if I find anything else out. Be your Watson, I guess?” That analogy did nothing to curb the awkwardness hanging in the air.

“Yes… come see me again if you hit any leads.” Ford finally turned to look at Jimmy with a slight smile. “See you again, Watson.”


	4. Client #618: Stanford Pines - Session 2

_Static cuts in, showing Stanford sitting on the couch with a slump, heavy bags under his eyes. He rubs at his face, sipping at the coffee he picked up before the session._

_“Late night, Stanford?” His therapist sits across from him, tilting her head with a look of concern.”You seem stressed._

_“I've had… a pretty hard week. Every time I see blood, it feels like I'm right back at the scene. On top of that, the police officially declared a cold case yesterday.” Ford placed his cup on the table with a heavy sigh. “Add a weird love triangle and I just… I'm exhausted.”_

_“I'm sorry to hear that.” She jotted down a few notes before giving him a smile. “Picking up from last week, we can talk about the incident itself, or the aftermath. I'll leave that up to you, so just start talking.”_

Ford looked into the mirror while Fiddleford adjusted his tie. “I can't… believe he's gone.” His voice came quiet, shaking slightly. “Fidds… my brother is gone.”

“He was my friend, too, yaknow?” Fidds slipped on his jacket, heart sinking. “I would buy weed from him, paying in food, tuning up his car, and letting him sleep in my van.”

Ford stared at himself, only seeing Stan. His silence seemed to choke the room as he stood lost on thought. “I'm dropping out.”

Fiddleford turned to look at him, a sad look in his eyes. “I guess I am, too, then.” He was met with Ford’s surprised stare.

“But- all your hard work. Your dreams-“

“My dreams? To spend the rest of my life with you.” Fiddleford hugged Ford tightly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I feel complete with you, in a way that I've never felt before.”

Ford felt his chest tighten as tears fall from his face. His trembling turned into sobbing as he clung to Fidds with a desperation he'd never felt before. “I love you…” he croaked out, “Please… never leave my side."

“Until death due us part.” Fiddleford pulled away and wiped his lover's tears away. “Let's head to the funeral.”

Their drive to Jersey was heavy, Ford thinking on what to say to his parents. He thought that his dad would probably not be phased, and his mother sobbing uncontrollably. But the scene he'd arrived to was unexpected.

Filbrick wasn't stoic, for once not wearing his shades. Tears slowly leaked from his eyes as he held a sobbing Caryn in one arm, holding a confused Sherman in the other. He looked at the closed casket, shaking slightly. Ford watched his father set Sherman down and fall to his knees, resting his head on the casket. “I'm sorry.” Filbrick's eyes clenched shut as he balled a fist against the wood. “I'm so sorry…” His voice became choked sobs as Caryn fell to his side and clung to him.

“Daddy…” Sherman patted Filbrick's back with concern. “Don't cry, Daddy. It okay…”

Ford joined his parents on the ground, shaking with pain. They looked at his empty expression, knowing full well that he's picturing how his brother's corpse looks inside the casket. “I want the person who did this fucking dead.” Ford's voice was a whisper, hoarse and creaking. “Whoever did this to him… I hope they rot in hell.” Ford broke down, his sobs joining his parents'.

The family and Fiddleford later stood in the pawn shop, silent. Ford took a deep breath and looked to his parents. May as well rip the band-aid off. Before he could open his mouth, his mother spoke.

“Come home.”

The words caused Ford to look up from the floorboards. Filbrick took a deep breath. “Your mother and I think… we should all be together. To heal.”

“Well, that's out of the way.” Ford took Fiddleford's hand, fully ready to be disowned. “Fiddleford's going to be staying with us, too. He's my boyfriend, and he doesn't want to leave me through this."

Caryn managed to smile through her tears, shaking Filbrick's arm. “Filly… Stanford found love.”

Filbrick put a hand on Fiddleford’s shoulder and smiled despite himself. “You're a Pines now. But know that if you hurt my son, I will not fucking hesitate. I'm not… I'm not letting another one of my kids get hurt. Not ever again.”

“Sir, I would never. If gay marriage were legal, I would be asking for his hand.” Fiddleford stood tall, squeezing Ford's hand. Ford was having trouble processing what his father just said. Not only did he not care that he was with another man, but he immediately accepted his boyfriend as part of the family. He took on the role of a protector. He was actively trying to be a better father.

Ford started to break, filled with every emotion under the sun. But the one thing he wished was that Stan could see this. A piece of Ford was missing and gone forever. But now more pieces were falling into place. He alternated between laughing and sobbing for a solid five minutes, finally reaching the point of a full mental meltdown.

“Honey,” Caryn placed her hand on his shoulder with a soft voice, “you'll be okay. We'll all be okay. We're a tough family, and we love you.” Ford held onto his mom, crying like a lost child. “Be brave.”

_Stanford sighed as he leaned into the couch, tears flowing freely. “I never expected my father to be so accepting. But in the past week, I found out that he also lost a twin. My uncle Frederick, myrdered for being gay.” Ford sipped at his coffee again, eyes focused on the floor. “I finally understand his reactions to everything. He's tired of all that pain. He never wants to lose anybody else.”_

_The therapist continues writing with a hum before regarding her client. “And what about you? How do you feel about your father?”_

_Ford let himself think, taking everything into account. “I feel sorry for him. He blames hinself for everything. But he wasn't the one who killed them. His twin or Stanley.” Ford blinked his vision clear and sucked in a hard breath. “Dad has made mistakes. Painful, stupid, deadly mistakes. But he wants to be better. And he wants to protect his remaining family. He tells us he loves us every day now, when him saying that was basically nonexistent in my youth.”_

_“Do you love your father?”_

_“I used to hate him. Not anymore. I respect him. I'm proud of him. And I think that, yes, I'm on the path to loving him again.” Ford let out his breath, happy to finally say that. “I think… dad getting better is the best thing to come out of this."_

_“And your boyfriend? You mentioned being in a bit of a love triangle? Tell me about that.”_

“I'm gonna go home and come out to my family.”

Ford paced his room, feeling alone for the first time in a year. Fiddleford had only been gone a day, but Ford was afraid. Afraid for Fidds, afraid of himself. Ford knew all to well that he was bad at decision making with emotions high like this.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the window. Jimmy was there. The memory of their awkward encounter melted Ford's stomach. But he opened the window anyway. “Jimmy. Any leads?”

“My baby sister was at the bar that night, too. She noticed that somebody was watching Stan. Had this fancy tattoo on his neck of a cursive R.” Jimmy hopped in and handed Ford a sketch of the tattoo. “I've got some of my boys looking into it.”

Ford smiled and added the sketch where Jimmy's used to be. “Glad your gang looks out for their own.” He turned to find Jimmy much closer than expected. His face flushed as he leaned back on his desk. “Oh, you're- hah- you're a bit close, there.”

Jimmy looked at Ford with empty eyes. “I know you have somebody already. But I can't just ignore my feelings.”

“That's- I'm flattered, but you likely on feel this way because I look like-" Ford squeaked as Jimmy leaned over him. He swallowed hard, heart beating in his ears. “I- I mean… you're very sweet, knowing how you took care of-"

“Ford. You may look like Stan, but I admire you for completely different reasons.” Jimmy finally gave Ford some space to breathe, pacing away. “You're so… intriguing.” The word set Ford on fire, and it was all he could do to stay quiet.

“H-How so?” His voice was strained, attempting to keep it even.

“You're simultaneously calm and full of fire. So intelligent, but clueless as hell. I've never met anybody like you.” Jimmy faced Ford again, desperation in his eyes. “I haven't stopped thinking about what happened before I left. I know you have some sort of feelings for me-"

“I- Jimmy, this isn't fair-" Ford crumpled into himself and screwed his eyes shut. “Fuck- why did you have to do this when Fidds isn't home?” Ford felt his heart start racing, remembering the tenderness in Jimmy's eyes. Jimmy understood his need to fight for Stan, any way he could. He felt like at least one person wanted to support his investigation. One person believed in him.

“I am infatuated with you.”

Jimmy's words were what hit Ford the hardest. He loved Fiddleford, but now he was falling for this man, too. “God, me too.” He wanted to just push Jimmy away when he felt a hand on his hip. Another tilted his chin up, forcing him to make eye contact.

“Why ya crying, kitten?” Ford felt pins and needles flood his whole body at the pet name. “Talk to me.”

“I don't want to fall for you.” Ford felt disgusting. While the love of his life was risking his life by coming out, Ford was being tempted by his late twin's lover. “I don't want to, but I am.” Jimmy pressed his lips to Ford's, the mustache soft against his bare skin.

As he pulled away, Ford was left star struck. “Wanna take a ride with me and make bad decisions, Sherlock?”

Ford felt his muscles relax as he was finally swayed, gently wring his arms over the taller man's shoulders. “Of course, my dear Watson.”

_Ford paced to and fro, the therapist watching intently. “I mean, Stan loved him. I feel disloyal, I feel like I'm stealing-"_

_“Funny, the thing you mention more between your brother and your boyfriend is the prior.” Ford stopped and looked to the woman with distraught confusion. “Don't you think Stanley would be happy that you two get along so well? That Jimmy moved on?”_

_“Are you saying I should pursue it?” Ford turned on a dime, staring at her in disbelief._

_“I'm just saying that maybe you would feel better if you sat them both down and tried to have an open conversation.” Ford tilted his head at her statement. “You have two hands, Stanford. Sometimes you love more than one person, and it's better for everybody if you just address it.” Ford opened his mouth to debate, but the hour timer finally chimed. “Homework for next session, sit them down and talk about it.”_


	5. Purple

Ford awoke to the sun hitting his eyes through slightly parted curtains, making his already unbearable hangover migraine worse. He hid in the crook of his elbow, feeling the pain in his head seep into every groove of his brain as a knock rang out from Jimmy's motel room door. The bed shifted as the blonde stood, donning pants before walking to the door.

“Lavender? What's up, sis?”

“Doug dropped off some info on that tattoo.” Jimmy stepped inside, silently inviting the teenager inside. She stopped dead and stared at Ford's form, bottom half covered by only the blanket. “Oh my god, you're fucking his brother.”

“Lavi, it's not-"

“I sleep next door, Jim-Jam. I know you two were going at it.” She sat on the edge of the bed with a shake of her head, giving Ford an apologetic look. “I'm sorry my brother is a complete meathead. Please put on pants before he embarrasses you any further.”

“Hello, I'm Lavender, I'm Jimmy's baby sister,” Jimmy mocked before sitting beside her. “Is it so hard to be polite to people?”

She gave a deadpan stare to her sibling from beneath baby bangs, dyed black at the tips. “Yes. Yes it is.” Lavender opened the manila envelope in her hands, pulling out some photos and notes. “All of the people who have the tattoo have one thing in common – they all interact with this vehicle."

Ford finishes pulling on his jeans as he glances over her shoulder. In all Polaroids, the person was interacting with a purple Lincoln Continental. “Why is it always purple? It's tacky as hell.”

“Doug couldn't get the plate in any of these?” Jimmy took a photo, sighing. “This is why you don't trust him with a camera.”

“Okay, but get this," Lavender held up some of the notes with a grin. “Doug went and asked some of the local hookers-“

“I thought I told you that word was rude.”

Lavender scowled at Jimmy once more, taking a deep breath. “-he went and talked with some of the sex workers. And they say that this guy has his associates frequent the area around Backupsmore.”

Ford looked to the floor, lost in thought. Then he remembered a the homeless man from that morning. Stan had been wearing the same coat. His eyes widened at the realization, and there was a pit in his stomach.

“Any idea who this sleazebag is?” Jimmy squinted at a photo, trying to see through the tinted windows of the car.

“No, he never leaves his car. And any person who crosses him winds up dead. Sooner or later.”

Ford stood again and slipped his shirt on, his body feeling heavy. “Stan can never make anything easy, can he?” He opens the curtains and stares out the window with a scowl. “We're finding out who this fucker is. Tonight.”

“Ford, you have to be kidding.” Fiddleford adjusted his hand brace with a sigh. Home for less than an hour, in pain, and he has to deal with Ford's self destructive nonsense. “I will not let you go with him. You're gonna do somethin' stupid and get in trouble.”

“Fidds, I'll have a whole biker gang protecting me-"

“Stan had that, and look what happened to him!” He regretted that. He really did. The look on Ford's face – brown eyes wide with pain, mouth barely parted in disbelief, all the color gone – felt like a knife stabbing Fiddleford in the chest. He averted his gaze, avoiding eye contact as he played with the bandages on his other arm.

“You know what? Fuck you.” Ford's voice wavered, tears pricking his eyes. “The last month has been nothing but you criticizing me – patronizing me – for trying to do my own investigation.” Fiddleford finally looked to him, guilt flooding him at Ford's free falling tears. “I wanted to talk about making things work with both of you, but if that's what you think? Jimmy will be better for me than you will ever be.”

Fiddleford felt his heart shatter. “Stanford…” He choked back his tears, breathing ragged. “I gave up college for you. I made my family hate me for you. I-"

“Yeah. And you just lost me.” Ford looked away from Fiddleford, stifling a sob. “Just… just go.” He didn't watch as Fiddleford quietly left the room. There wasn't time to be upset.

Ford pulled up to the motel, trying to push what had happened to the back of his mind. Jimmy and his crew were waiting outside for him, and he felt a pain in his heart.

“Hey there, babe.” Ford forced a smile at Jimmy's voice as he wrapped his arms around him. “Got you a little present, since this is your first run with us.” He felt a jacket drape over his shoulders, and practically floated at the sight when he looked it over.

“My own jacket?” His name was studded in the back, under a picture of an owl. “It's actually really beautiful.” Ford looked up in time to see Lavender leaning against the hood of his car with a smirk, tossing him a set of keys. The guys pulled a tarp a couple spots over to reveal a shiny, black motorcycle.

“Lavi said we should officially make you part of the crew.” Jimmy put an arm around Ford, amused at how he just stared in disbelief. “Ready to fuck a man up?”

Ford could only smile, looking at the people he now considered part of his family. “Born ready.”

Fiddleford returned to the pawn shop with a heavy sigh. It was late. Surely Ford would be back by now. But his car was nowhere to be seen. He walked inside. The shop was dark. Walking up to the living room, he was surprised to find Filbrick just sitting there.

“Ford told me what you said to him.” Though Filbrick was only five feet tall, his cold voice and lack of emotion on his face gave Fiddleford chills. “You really hurt him.”

“I- I didn't mean it like that-"

“Intent doesn't matter. Not when my kid's involved.” Filbrick stood and walked toward Fiddleford. “I'm giving you one chance to explain yourself. You better make it good.”

“I… he's going off with Jimmy to chase down someone who he suspects had a hand with Stan. I- I'm scared he's gonna get hurt-"

“And so you decide to use my son's death as a manipulation tactic?!” A fist flies into the wall beside Fiddleford, causing him to flinch and whimper.

“I'm sorry, sir… p-please… I have nothing left…” Fiddleford broke down, sliding down against the wall. A look of sudden realization hit Filbrick as he looked to his hand, drywall flecking his skin. He look to Fiddleford, now noticing his bruised and beaten form.

“I… I'm sorry.” He lowered his hands to his sides and knelt to look Fiddleford in the eye. “What happened to you, kid?”

“My dad got his friends to help try and lynch me.” Fiddleford hugged his knees close, shaking. “Do you know how scary it is to have your father put a noose around your neck and tie it to a truck?” His voice lowered to a whisper, wavering. “I'm only here because the rope snapped.”

Filbrick slowly hugged Fiddleford, sucking in a shaking breath. Images of his own twin flooded his mind. “We'll talk to Ford when he gets back.”

Ford was in the center of the group as they sat in the shadows of an alley, watching the street. He looked to Jimmy, who offered him a cigarette. After a moment of contemplation, he took it and had Jimmy light it. Lavender let out a yawn and draped herself over the handlebars of her bike, popping a sucker into her mouth.  
“It's too quiet,” Jimmy's voice broke the silence.

“You smell a trap, Jimbo?” his sister looked over at him, cocking her head to one side.

Ford cast a gaze to the ground, taking a long drag. “I felt like I was being watched in the bar that night. Think they're keeping tabs on all of us?”

A shot rang out, a bullet piercing Lavender in the shoulder. She let out a curse before starting her engine. The group took off in formation, Lavender scanning the area for the perpetrator. A car pulls up behind them, more shots fired in their direction. Ford held his breath as he kept to the middle of the group, bullets flying by him.

The man to his left was shot down, bullet through the neck, bike skidding away as he fell. The blood splashed Ford, flecking him in red, and he fought to keep himself in the present. His clothes now smelled of iron, and he almost didn't hear Jimmy scream for their fallen comrade. To his right, Lavender reached into her pocket, pulling out a pistol and aiming for tires. Ford felt his heart sink as another shot pierced her, and Jimmy immediately led the group down a narrow alley, taking many twists and turns to lose their pursuers.

Ford hopped off his ride, running over to Jimmy as he was checking his sister. “Lav, are you okay?!”

“I'm fine,” she hissed, holding the wound on her side, “They fucking got Doug.”

Ford kept a paranoid eye on their surroundings, heart pounding like a drum. That's when he noticed a car slowly driving by. The purple Lincoln. The window was down, and Ford made eye contact with the man at the wheel. Slender, nicely dressed, tan. Black hair slicked back and flecked with gray. The scar over his eye carving into Ford's soul.

“I want to go home.” Ford's voice quaked as he finally processed what happened, looking at the blood staining his garb. “Let's go home. Please.” His breathing became uneven as he began to sob. He was just so tired. So tired of pain. He felt a pain in his ararm, a tightness in his chest, and within moments, everything was black.


	6. Abyssal Agony

Ford woke in his bed, groggy from the stress induced blackout he sustained. That kind of pain was distinct, and he could recognize the symptoms even without a medical degree. He'd been changed out of his bloody clothes, his jacked neatly placed on his desk. The signs of his mother having taken care of him.

Ford was distracted from his thoughts by the sound of discussion in the next room. He crept out at a slow pace, looking into his parents' room, where Caryn sat gently rocking Sherman. Ford went toward the source of the chatter, to find Fiddleford and Filbrick sitting in the living room. Jimmy's jacket was draped over the couch, indicating he was in the house. Looking at Fiddleford, Ford felt a rage burn deep within him.

“What the fuck are you still doing here?” His voice startled them, and the two men looked over. “Go back to Tennessee, why don't you?” Ford couldn't understand the distressed look in Filbrick's eyes or why it was there. Fiddleford had hurt him. Badly. “You shouldn't have come back.”

Filbrick stood and walked over to his son grabbing him by the shoulders and giving him a few rough shakes. “Stanford, his father tried to fucking kill him. He can't go back!” His voice was booming with desperation.

In the resulting silence, the sound of Fiddleford's feet shuffling caught their attention. “Fine.” His eyes were hidden by the shadow of his hair. “Fine, I'll go.” Filbrick reached out, but couldn't stop Fiddleford as he pushed past Jimmy.

Filbrick gritted his teeth, slamming Ford against the wall. “You basically just told him to kill himself, you stupid little shit.” He slammed Ford again, cursing in German. Jimmy grabbed his jacket, going after Fiddleford while they were fighting it out.

Fiddleford pulled his van over on the overpass, looking at the first photo that he and Ford had taken as a couple. He tucked it into the sun shield before getting out and climbing onto the barrier. His father thought he was an abomination and tried to get rid of him. He had no direction. Ford hated him and wanted him gone. He edged his toe over the ledge, looking to the hard road below. The roar of an engine filled him with fear, and before he could react, he was being yanked back.

The speed at which his heart began beating could have sent him into cardiac arrest. For a split second, he thought that maybe his father had tailed him to finish the job. But then he saw Jimmy, complete with soft eyes and a slight frown.

“Don't do it.”

Fiddleford started to sob again, shaking under the man's touch. “Stanford wanted me to stay in the south. I would've died. So I'm doin him a favor.” He tried to pull himself away, but just no longer held the energy.

"Listen to yourself.” Jimmy pulled Fiddleford back, staring him dead in the eyes, lightly shaking him as he spoke. “Do you really think that this is what he wants? He has no idea what happened to you. He doesn't know anything. This isn't what he meant."

“My dad thinks I'm a blight on the Lord. He tried to kill me.” Fiddleford cast a glance back to the ledge, eyes glazing over in sadness. “If I can't make Stanford happy, maybe I can make my dad happy. Maybe I can repent for my sins and atone in the eyes of God.”

“Man, fuck God.” Jimmy’s brows furrowed, a scowl creeping across his lips. “God let Stan die. God let my sister get shot. He let everybody hurt like this. God's an asshole. You don't have to atone shit for somebody who clearly doesn't give a damn about you.”

Fiddleford fell to his knees, sobbing loudly and wailing as Jimmy knelt down to hug him. The biker held him tight and gave light words of encouragement, eventually coaxing him back into his van.

When Jimmy walked into the living room alone, Ford's stomach dropped. The room was silent, save for the tic of a clock, which began to grate on Ford's nerves.

“Oh, fuck,” Ford croaked. “Did he…? I didn't- fuck- christ-" Ford felt his heart begin skipping beats, almost as if he were going to have a heart attack right then and there. Jimmy put a hand on Ford's shoulder, gently shushing him and pulling him into a hug.

“He's… well, he isn't okay. But he is alive.” Ford pulled away to look up at the man with tears in his eyes. Seeing that level of guilt broke Jimmy's heart a thousand times over. “He's just scared. He's waiting outside.” He gripped his other shoulder, giving a light squeeze. “Can you be calm?”

Ford quietly sat back down, fiddling with his fingers in his lap and staring at the rug. When Fiddleford came in, hiding behind Jimmy and clinging to his coat, it was all he could do to rush over. “Fidds- I'm sorry, I didn't kn-" When the southerner flinched away from his approaching embrace, Ford shrank back. He thought that he'd hurt Fidds so deeply that he was afraid of him now. “I'm sorry. I'll go.”

As Ford turned to leave, he felt arms wrap around him and sobbing into his back. “P-please don't leave again.” Fiddleford held onto Ford like his life depended on it, snot and tears on the leather of Ford's outerwear.

“I won't. I promise.” Ford turned to hold Fiddleford, shaking. “I love you.” His chest was heavy with emotion as they sank to the floor together. “I love you.”

Jimmy looked to Filbrick, scuffing his shoe against the floor and rubbing the back of his neck. He wasn't sure how Filbrick felt about him. And to be fair, Filbrick wasn't really sure how he felt either. Jimmy cleared his throat before verbally slapping Filbrick out of left field. “Wanna go kill a backwoods bigot?”

Filbrick looked at Fiddleford's appearance and needed no time on an answer. “Sign me the fuck up.”

Ford's heart began to relax, and he just sat on the floor with Fiddleford, thinking. He almost caused a tragedy. He almost caused his best friend to kill himself. Jimmy's hand was placed on his head, and he looked up to meet the blonde.

“The old man and I are gonna run some prolonged errands. Take care of Sunshine, okay?” Fiddleford looked at Ford, confusion filling his expression as he mouthed the nickname.

“Pet names are his thing. It means he likes you.” Ford gave Fidds a smile and a wink with the statement.

Jimmy leaned down and kissed Ford's cheek before starting to walk. “See ya, Kitten.”  
“Bye Jimmy, bye dad, don't die.” Ford watched the two leave and sighed, a genuine smile creeping onto his face. In his comfort, he suddenly remembered the face of the man in the purple Lincoln. “I saw the guy, I think.”

“The guy?”

“The guy we were going after.” Ford stood and adjusted his jacket with a determined glare to the floor. “I'm gonna kill him for what he did to Stan. To us.”

“Hun, really-“ Fiddleford bit his tongue. Advocating against the investigation was one of the reasons Ford had been so upset. “I don't agree with going after him yourself. Let's wait for Jimmy and go together, okay?”

Ford was pleasantly surprised at Fiddleford's support, smiling at the joy in his heart. “Okay. When Jimmy gets back.”


	7. Truth

“Can I tell you a secret, old man?” The question from Filbrick's passenger seat caused him to glance in Jimmy's direction with a hum. “You can't tell anybody. Not your kids. Not your wife. ‘Specially not Fidds.”

“Hit me. What, you part of a murder cult or somethin'?” Filbrick lit a cigarette, offering one to his son's secondary love interest. “Wouldn't surprise me. Kinda pegged you as the type from the get-go.”

“Kinda. But kinda not, too.” Jimmy took the offer, lighting it up with just his finger, startling Filbrick slightly.

“Nice, uh… nice party trick.” Filbrick kept his eyes on the road, focusing on anything other than the increasingly looming presence beside him.

“I'm not entirely human, if ya couldn't tell.” Jimmy ran his finger along the car door with tired eyes. “My sis and I… we’re demons. We steal souls.”

Filbrick felt himself beginning to sweat as he sank further down in his seat. “So, why are you telling me this?” Fear sparked through Filbrick like a flame. He knew Jimmy could sense it. He knew Jimmy could sense a lot of things.

“Originally, I wanted to steal yours. We only steal the souls of assholes.” Jimmy's words were the least comforting thing Filbrick had ever heard. “I loved Stan. He suffered because of you. He felt unwanted. Like a burden. Because of you.” Filbrick took a glance and took note of this man being literally on fire beside him. He turned on the air conditioner, not liking how hot the car felt.

“I… I know. If I could do things differently, I would. If I could take it back, I would.” He took a deep breath, focusing on the dark freeway ahead of them. “But I can't. The only thing I can do is change for the better. Learn from my mistakes, yaknow?”

“I know.” Jimmy's acknowledgment soothed Filbrick's nerves, keeping him calm and level headed. “I'm telling you all this because you're no longer on my hit list. And I know you want to help me take the next two souls on it.”

“I'm guessing old man McGucket is priority number one?” Filbrick felt his nerves finally ease as he loosened his grip on the steering wheel. “Who's number two?”

“The man who killed Stanley.” Jimmy looked to Filbrick and scowled. “I'm gonna show you something. But you should really pull over.”

Filbrick followed Jimmy out of the car once they stopped, surprised as the taller man removed his hat and placed a hand on his head. Flames erupted from Jimmy's palm, and at first Filbrick was terrified that he was tricked. But the flames didn't hurt. In fact, they made him feel lighter. Hesitantly, he opened his eyes.

Filbrick saw things in an ethereal light. The whole world looked coated in stardust, light and airy. But the most notable thing he saw were bright cables, stretching to and fro, ranging between icy blue to burning orange. As Jimmy pulled his hand away, Filbrick took note of the core that went with it.

“Your soul, complete with all its connections.” Filbrick took the pale orange core into his own hands, inspecting it. “Each of those cables connect to other souls. Other individuals who have made an impact on your life, for better or worse.”

Filbrick turned the orb, somehow both solid and intangible. While his core was primarily orange, the cables varied in hue. “Do the colors have meaning or something?”

“The more orange a cord is, the more positive the impact.” Jimmy placed a finger on a strand, such an icy blue it was almost white. “This one is toward the guy that killed your twin.” He traced his finger to an orange strand, burning so intensely it was almost red, though translucent. “This is your brother's.” Filbrick's eyes followed the strand to a core floating in the car and his eyes began to water, prompting Jimmy to force his head away. “Don't look. It'll break you.”

“How long has he-?”

“Since the day he died. But I want you to see this one.” Jimmy hooked his finger under a severed cable, blackened and dead. “This was Stan's.”

Filbrick's head was swimming with this information, heart yearning for answers. “What… happened to his soul?”

“Stolen in his final moments.” Jimmy plunged the core back into Filbrick, causing the older man to shudder. “I know who did this. Ford is leading me right to him.”

“Can you just tell me who before I lose my fuckin mind?”

“His name is Rico. Met him five years ago.” Jimmy got back into the car after stomping out his cigarette, sighing. “He's my boss's right hand man. Steals souls for the fun of it. If any of the people he traffics or anybody who works for him are no longer of use, he takes their soul. A real piece of work.”

“What makes you think he stole Stan's?” Filbrick began to drive once more, a sadness in his chest.

“Stan had a connection to Rico's soul. Blue from both ends, orange in the center.” Jimmy rolled his window down, allowing the wind to extinguish him. “There was more blue from Stan's end, but the blue from Rico's was colder.”

“So some sort of falling out? Bad breakup?”

Jimmy groaned and looked out the window at the passing trees. “Rico abused him. He never said it was Rico, but I always knew. When Stan started to fight back? Rico must've become a lot less loving.” He rolled the window back up, blinking away tears. “I should've done something sooner. But I didn't want to scare Stan with the truth.”

Filbrick took a deep breath, placing one hand on Jimmy's shoulder. “You're okay. We'll fuck this guy up. But right now? Eye on the prize. We gotta take down McGucket.”

Ford woke up with Fiddleford clinging to him. He was this man's lifeline. The Pines pulled himself away, replacing his body with his pillow in response to his lover's desperate grasps, and went downstairs.

He slid on his jacket and walked to the boardwalk, feet dragging against the dew covered ground. The sun had yet shown over the horizon, leaving the sea an inky black mass, threatening to swallow whole everything Ford held dear.

As he leaned on the railing, he reflected over the passed week. Where his feelings lay, who he trusted most, and what he wanted. He knew the answer to that last one. He wanted Stan. He wanted his brother, more than anything else in the world.

Tears began to stream as he thought of his twin and the happy memories they shared. He desperately attempted to reach through some psychic connection, like the one that had been tapped into on that day. But he felt nothing. Nothing but a bitter emptiness that circled him like a shark.

He paid no notice to his surroundings. No thoughts on the footsteps approaching him. He only noticed something out of place when a figure from behind put a cloth over his face and the world faded into obscurity.


	8. Vengence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is. A lot in this chapter. Probably one of the hardest hitting ones to date. Lots of violence. There's some torture in there.
> 
> I wrote this chapter in a few hours. I've been planning this scene since I introduced Jimmy. Easily my favorite chapter to write.

Filbrick slammed the crowbar down on the elder man's leg once more, eliciting a muffled cry of anguish. He said nothing, only allowing his anger to fuel his actions.

“W-Who are yo-" His question was cut off with a hit to the face, blood flecking Filbrick's form. He brought the metal down onto the man's ribs, filling the air with a sickening crack and more screams. Nobody could hear him this far out in the fields. As Filbrick brought his weapon up again, Jimmy's hand caught it.

“My turn.” All rage emptied from Filbrick's face as he let the demon pass him. Jimmy picked the man up by the front of his shirt, gazing into his eyes. “Shovel McGucket.” The man could only whimper in response. “Fiddleford sends his regards.”

Within seconds, Jimmy's full demonic form took hold. Shovel's face turned to one of abject terror as the sky blackened. Jimmy summoned chains of fire, wrapping them around the man's wrists and neck, suspending him. The burning caused him to screech out, voice echoing within an ethereal void. Filbrick watched in awe and fear as the blonde plunged his flaming hand seemingly into Shovel's chest.

Jimmy began to rip Shovel's soul from his chest, cords trying to tether it in place. Pain and fear filled every part of the man's form as each cable snapped individually. The scene carried on for a few moments, although it felt like hours to Filbrick. But eventually, Shovel fell silent.

Jimmy tossed the man's lifeless body into the pig pen before looking to the orb in his hands, a blue as deep as the ocean. He crushed it, the dust erupting out and feeding into his own core. He hissed as tallies burned into his skin were removed.

“Really? Only worth three? Fucking waste.” Jimmy began walking back toward the car in silence, Filbrick quickly following after.

“Only worth three?” he echoed, looking up at the blonde.

“I'm a demon because I made a deal. This is what I have to do in order to regain my soul.” Jimmy got into the car, wiping the blood from his hands. “Each soul has a different level of power. I thought that maybe this man was so full of hate that I could get a decent chunk of tallies out of the way. But he wasn't able to do even that.”

They arrived back to the shop late that night, and Filbrick could tell things seemed off. The two entered the building, and the first thing he heard was Caryn sobbing.

Filbrick ran to his wife, who sat with a nervous Fiddleford in the living room. “What's going on?”

“Stanford hasn't been back since last night,” Fiddleford stated, his voice quiet. “Nobody's seen him. His bike and car are outside.”

Jimmy's eyes seemed to spark, and he abruptly left the room. Filbrick went after him, wondering if he sensed something. Outside, Lavender pulled up and flung herself through the door.

“James, I'm glad you're here, Ford-"

“Rico?”

Lavender silently nodded, shaking. “You felt it, too.” She steadied herself against the wall, red beginning to stain the bandage on her side. “We gotta go after him. We gotta.”

Jimmy focused his soul sight, following his connection to Ford. “Old man, go get Fiddleford. Lav, fix up your wound. We find Rico and end this.”

Ford jerked awake as a hand made contact with his cheek. He spat blood, shaking from the panic in his soul. “So you are the twin Stanley so eagerly talked about all that time ago.” Ford's chin was caught by the man, head forced to look up. His wrists were bound to the bed he sat on, and no amount of struggling would wriggle him free.

“Pathetic.”

The word stung. It stung like salt in an open wound. “Who are you…?” His question was met with his hair being grabbed and his head slammed against the bedframe.

“You will be a much better pet than Stanley. You will obey me. And you will not speak unless prompted. Understand?” Ford let out a whimper, wrenching his eyes shut and letting tears sink down. “Look at me and answer me, Boy.”

“Y-Yes, sir…” Ford's voice wavered as he tried not to sob, his whole body trembling.

“Good boy, Stanford.”

The man from the purple Lincoln. The man who killed Stanley. And now the man who had Ford trapped. He wriggled against his restraints once more, only accomplishing another strike. The man pressed his hand against Ford's throat, causing him to croak out.

“You poor, stupid fuck.” Rico thought on his words, and a grin spread over his lips. “You know, I could use that right about now.”

Ford fought to get Rico away, receiving a foot to the stomach. He let out a yell of pain, beginning to cry as Rico began preparing for the worst possible scenario. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine anything else as Rico had his way with him. His tears ran hot over his cheeks, and he shivered as he felt Rico lick them away, proclaiming his love for crybabies.

He was left an hour later, naked and violated, tethered in this hell that Stanley must have faced. Every movement hurt him, and when Rico came back for round two, he just went limp. It was all too much. Every second was horrific stimuli. A day in, and he had stopped crying and screaming, which seemed to upset Rico.

That was when the torture began. Ford yelped at the feelings of a whip or a brand on his back. But the pain from that soon numbed as well.

He was complacent. If Rico killed him, he could at least be with Stan. When alone, he thought of all his life's regrets, considering his suffering punishment for his atrocious behavior.

How long had he been there? The room had no windows. He had no way to tell the passing time. Would anybody even find him? In that regard, would they find him alive? He couldn't see the door. Every time it opened, his heart sank. He knew what it was time for.

“Hm, these extras should really go.”

Ford felt his heart beat race. He could hear the blood in his ears. He watched Rico brandish a switchblade.

“Let's get rid of them, huh?”

Ford screamed and kicked as metal met flesh. The hot blood trickled down, soaking into the ropes that carved into his wrists. Rico moved the blade slowly, bit by bit. The pain was excruciating, and Ford dare not look over.

“Look at it.”

The order was hissed out, causing Ford's head to snap in that direction. The sight of blood trickling down his arm sent his brain into overdrive. His heart was again skipping beats in complete, abject terror. His throat almost felt like it was closing up. Pains rang through his chest.

This was it. This was how he was going to die. He began to sob as desperation hit him. He hoped – prayed, even – that Jimmy and his family would care for Fiddleford.

Then the incision stopped.

An explosion rang out somewhere across the base. Rico left with a scoff, Ford's wound still bleeding profusely. He let his head fall back and rest, tears cascading down his face.  
When the door opened again, he whimpered.

Fear enveloped him until he saw the face of Jimmy. Fiddleford was shaking as he worked at the ropes on his wrists. Once free, he saw his father and Lavender manning the door.  
“You made it…?” his voice was hoarse from screaming, body trembling from weakness. Jimmy and Fiddleford held him close, Fidds crying hysterically.

“Sunshine, you stay at his side, no matter what happens. Understood? The rest of us are going for Rico.”

Jimmy and Lavender stayed on either side of Filbrick, all intents being to protect him. Lavender looked at them with a somber glow to her eyes. “The plan: Jimmy and I hold him down. You go absolutely feral.”

“And once he's weak enough,” Jimmy continued, “we steal his soul as painfully as we can."

Filbrick looked to the crowbar in his hands, blinking away the angry tears in his eyes. This man had hurt both of his eldest sons. Ford would be left scarred for the rest of his life.

They entered the room that they had decoyed, and immediately, the siblings wasted no time. Their magic surprised Rico, binding him and holding him in place.  
“Jimmy. And your harlot of a sister.” Ignoring their scowls, Rico's gaze fell on Filbrick, noting his determined expression. “And father Pines. So good to see you. You broke Stanley's will for me, until James here fixed it up.”

“You're the scum of the earth.” The venom in Filbrick's voice surprised even himself. “I'm going to make sure these last few hours are filled with all the pain you caused our family.” He thrust himself forward, readying his weapon, but stopped, almost as if he hit a wall, or was walking through jello.

“Hm. Your soul is quite juicy. I'm surprised they didn't take it for themselves.” Rico's eyes caught flame, and Filbrick felt a tightness in his chest. Rico was taking his soul. Images of his sons came to mind, and he desperately plead for the strength to push through.

One step.

Another.

He forced himself closer, the pain unbearable. That was until he felt a warmth bathe him. Gasps erupted from his companions, and he opened his eyes.

Another core hovered in front of him. In his twilight state, Filbrick could make out the starry silhouette of his twin, no older than when he had died. The expression on Frederick's freckled face was a bittersweet smile.

“I love you.” Filbrick felt overwhelming pain as his brother's soul was slowly absorbed into Rico's. But he knew what he had to do.  
While the demon was distracted, Filbrick slammed the crowbar into his stomach. He wasted no time, delivering blow after blow, nonfatal wounds marring Rico's mortal body.

He reached for the switchblade in Rico's pocket, slashing at him in rapid succession. He didn't know when he started sobbing, but eventually Jimmy grabbed his wrist.

“Enough. Go to your son.” Filbrick slowly walked away as the siblings worked together to rip out the collection of souls from Rico's core. It didn't take long for the vile being to go limp. Jimmy scowered the core, looking for any indication of Stan in it. But there was nothing. Just a grotesque amalgam, indivisible. After a moment of thought, he offered the core to his baby sister.

“But-"

“Take it. It'll pay off your debt entirely.” Jimmy pressed the core to her chest, watching as she glowed a brilliant white and ascended from the ground.

Filbrick wrapped Ford in the biker jacket discarded to the side, gently rocking him as one would a toddler. He gave hushed words of comfort as Fiddleford stitched up the damage on his hand. When the siblings returned, Ford flung himself at Jimmy, Fiddleford joining the hug from behind. Jimmy just lifted him and carried him out, smiling as Ford fell asleep against his chest.


	9. Escapism

Ford sat outside his therapy building with Jimmy and Fiddleford, trembling. “I don’t want to go,” he repeated. “I don't want to think. I don't want to remember.” Remember what? There was nothing to remember. Nothing. Just pain. Just misery. Just all the things that the last two years have tortured him with.

“I don't want to remember,” he echoed his own words another time. It hurt. It hurt so much. Stan. Rico. Everything made Ford feel sick. He could still feel the scars on his back, a few months old at this point. He looked to his hands, covered by custom gloves that Jimmy had made for him. It was safer to ride a bike with gloves on anyway, but it had the added benefit of Hiding Ford's scar.

“I don't-" Ford started sobbing. He felt Jimmy and Fidds each throw an arm around him, speaking in hushed tones. But he couldn't make out what they were saying. He didn't know when they started going home, Ford curled up in the back of the van with Jimmy. Everything felt like a blur, just snapshots. He didn't want to exist.

Filbrick looked over from the counter, sighing when Jimmy carried in a sobbing Ford. “He break down again?”

“Worse than the last three times.” Jimmy sat Ford in a chair that was for sale, running fingers through his hair. “He's unresponsive to anything right now.”

Fiddleford came in behind them, kneeling on the ground beside Stanford. “I wish there was something I could do to help him.” He gently stroked Ford's shoulder, pulling away as the six-fingered man flinched.

“I just want to forget everything.” Ford's voice was barely a whisper, overflowing with agony. “I don't want to think. I don't want to remember.”

Jimmy left to go talk to Caryn, who was in the living room, taping ripped photos of Stanley back together. “Still working on fixing those?”

“His meltdowns are getting worse.” Caryn sighed, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I don't know what to do. What if he hurts-"

Jimmy raised a hand to silence her, sitting on the couch and looking at the childhood photos. “Ford won't hurt anybody. He isn't like that.”

Caryn looked down at a photo of Stan, ripped into shreds at the hands of his twin. Jimmy felt a pain in his gut, knowing that Stan wasn't even following them. Stanley Pines no longer existed. Just a memory that would soon fade with time.

“Filbrick doesn't agree with moving Ford out and away from here.” Caryn's voice was monotone as she reached for another piece of tape. “He thinks it would be better to stay together as a family.”

“You could always go with him.” Jimmy watched her expression darken further.

“We remind him of Stanley. Us being around just hurts him.” Sobs erupted from her, choked at first, but then loud and wailing. “I'm losing everybody…” she croaked between cries as Jimmy held her. “I don't want to lose anybody else. Last night, Filbrick was saying some scary things. I-"

Jimmy looked to the floor, lost in thought until small footsteps came into the room. Lavender leaned on the back of the couch, giving her brother a sad look. “We need to talk, James.” Jimmy excused himself quietly, following his sister into the hallway. She took a few moments before speaking. “Worse?”

“Worse.” Jimmy stared out the window, mind racing. “How's being free?” he changed the subject.

“Kept my abilities.” Lavender met his confused and disturbed glance with a smirk. “What can I say? Reaping the souls of assholes is cathartic.” She leaned against the sill, smirk falling once again. “It's like I can feel them in me sometimes. Stan and Fred. Like they live through me.”

“Yeah. There are a few souls I've had like that. You'll get used to it.” Jimmy rested his shoulder against the wall, staring at a knot in the wood. “So you stayed a demon. I hope that isn't Rico's influence.”

“Even if it is, I'm not like him.” Lavender walked down the hall, arms crossed behind her head. “If I ever become like that?” She locked eyes with her brother, a seriousness unfitting for her. “I want you to take my soul. No hesitation.”

A crash rang out from the shop. Upon arriving, Jimmy saw Ford curled up in a corner, a shattered vase on the floor next to Filbrick, blood running down his face from a cut he sustained. “Ford, son, get a hold of yoursel-"

“I WANT TO LEAVE.” Silence hung in the air, save for Ford's sobs. “I don't want to be here anymore. I don't want to remember us walking down the street. I don't want to remember playing on the beach. I don't want to remember being kidnapped from the boardwalk. I just- I want to leave. I want to forget. Just let me forget.”

Filbrick stepped back, heart sinking. “Okay. You can leave. Just be safe. Okay?” Ford unfurled, allowing his father to come closer and hold him, humming some German lullaby under his breath.

That was all a week ago. Now, Ford let the wind blow through his hair as he rode his bike down I-5, pacific northwest rains drizzling onto him, washing away regrets. He'd given his car - Stan's car – to his mother. She deserved her own transportation. Jimmy and Lavender were on either side of him, smiling whenever he caught their eyes. Fiddleford drove his van ahead of them, occasionally stopping to chastise them for driving recklessly. Behind them, the rest of the crew. Doug's girl is riding his bike, all cleaned up.

It felt nice. It felt nice to just stop thinking about everything. As the rain let up, the clouds giving way to sunlight, Ford had a brilliant idea.

“Let's camp out in the woods. Look for bigfoot, or hunt ghosts!” His voice radiated a joy he hadn't felt in years. A hunger to discover the unknown, to learn more about the world they lived in. A child-like wonder, a naivety that hadn't crossed those eyes since he was much younger.

Using the van as their tent, they set up camp deep in the woods of Oregon. While Ford ran about, acting like a big kid, Jimmy pulled his sister aside. “Hey, tell me you can't feel that.” He felt a heavy presence in the air, unable to pinpoint where it originated from. “Am I going crazy?”

“No, I feel it. Like it's disrupting the fabric of space and time.” Lavender looked up from her drink with knitted brows. “I have no idea what it is.”

“What what is?” They turn to see Fiddleford standing behind them, his own leather jacket hanging off his body. He looked at the two with curiosity, cocking his head.

“Nothin', sunshine. Forests just give us the creeps is all.” Jimmy put a false smile, having perfected the art of masking himself.

“Hey, guys! I found an old abandoned church!” Ford ran out from behind some trees to call out to them before jumping into the van and digging through their supplies. “Come on, let's go check it out!”

Jimmy held his hands up, waving off the offer with a laugh. “Nah, Lavi and I are gonna stay here. Make sure bears don't fuck up camp.” The big puppy eyes hit Jimmy hard. For a moment, Ford looked exactly like Stan.

“Please?”

The rest of the crew teased and taunted him, but that wasn't what swayed him. The defeat in Ford's voice pierced what was left of Jimmy's heart, and it was all he could do to relent.

“Fine. We'll go.”

As the demons followed after the group, Lav cast her brother a glare. “They're gonna know now. Jim, you can't keep scaring off every meaningful relationship with this.”

“I don't want to. I just- he looked like-" Jimmy felt a tug at his chest. He just wanted to rip out his heart so he couldn't feel.

Lavender cast a sad look to the forest floor, blinking away tears. “They do have the same exact face, don't they?”

“I could never say no to Stan. This is no different.” Jimmy groaned and rubbed at his eyes. “Why am I so weak?”

“Bro, you aren't weak. You just love too much.” Lavender got in front of him, walking backwards to face him. “Jamie, you're my best friend. I may still be a kid, but I know better than you sometimes. And I know that you are one of the strongest people I have ever met.”

“One of?” Jimmy scoffed, crossing his arms. “Who's the strongest?”

“Stanford.” He couldn't even argue with that. After all the kid has been through, he's still hanging on, trying to find himself.

Jimmy watched him fly up the steps of the dilapidated church, everybody but Lavender and Jimmy following suit. They stood just shy of the property. Jimmy could see the barrier protecting the location from presences like his.

His crew's teasing continued.

“Jimmy, come on!”

“You scared, boss?”

“I expect this from the girl, but you?”

“Babe…” Jimmy looked up to Ford's reassuring expression with shock. He sounded just like Stan sometimes. “We’re here. Come on.”

Jimmy started walking, despite his sister's pleading. He felt the burn. The sharp pain. He looked to his hands, noticing the flames he expected were there. And when he looked up, he saw looks of awe cross the crowd.

“You're… an angel?” Fiddleford's voice was quiet as he approached, taking Jimmy's hands. He looked to Lavender, seeing that the fire seemed to form a pair of wings behind her.

Lavender looked as surprised as Jimmy did. A smirk crossed his face, and he brushed it off. “More like a saint. Saints Jimmy and Lavender, damning the souls of assholes across the country.” He met his sister's incredulous stare, smirk never leaving his mouth.

“St. Jimmy!” Ford's laugh and cheer got the rest of the crew chanting the title ad infinitum.

Fiddleford gave Ford a love struck smile before shifting the same gaze to Jimmy as the cheers continued behind him. “Looks like you know just how to make a man happy, St. Jimmy.”

Fiddleford's tone sent a blush to Jimmy's cheeks. Impure thoughts crossed his mind often since Rico, but he was always too afraid to pursue. He didn't want to hurt Ford. But Fidds? His tone seemed to be begging for it.

“Heh, y-yeah. I can make you “happy" later, sunshine.” The whole group began giggling at him, flushing his cheeks a deeper shade of red.

The church held no real discoveries, though it was a nice spot to hang around until the sun dipped down past the trees. Ford passed out on the shag carpeting of the van as soon as he flopped down, Leaving Fiddleford and Jimmy to talk.

“Saint Jimmy… I like the way that rolls of the tongue.” Jimmy laid himself back to look at the ceiling. The silence of the van, the distant chatter of Lavender and the crew by the fire… it left Jimmy thinking. He felt Fiddleford’s head on his chest and took a deep breath. “When did you fall for me?”

“About the time you saved my life. You really are a saint.” Fiddleford snuggled closer, burying his face into the crook of Jimmy's neck. “I love you. I love you and Ford. Is that blasphemous?”

“Who cares?” Jimmy flipped himself, propping himself above Fiddleford, bringing a tinge of pink to the southerner’s face. “What matters is that we all love each other, right, sunshine?”

Fiddleford was star struck as he gently placed his hands on Jimmy's chest, mind racing. “We shouldn't wake Ford. This is the most peaceful sleep he's had in weeks.”

“Then you'll just have to focus on being quiet, buttercup.” Jimmy pressed his lips to Fiddleford's, enjoying the surprised squeak that rose from him. When he pulled away, Fidds' arms wrapped behind his neck, he gave a half-lidded gaze and a smirk. “Well?”

“Bless me, St. Jimmy.”


End file.
